Best Slamwords Poems
Dr. P.D. Feel Good vs.' Doc the Poet (#2
Doc, you can keep wearing my CROWN.
It goes perfect with your pink hospital gown.
I am the one that damaged and demolished all your goods
Now you’re like a tr@mp roaming the hoods
Diagnose your poetry under a form of drug abuse.
If you want to be a real princess, cover up them bruise.
Step into my office, -I'm the Dr. Feel Good of abuse.
My assistant will stamp and shave you like a sheep.
With the consumption, you’re not for human use.
Doc, I will be your worst nightmare.
My ambush of words will leave you in fear.
My assistant Nathan will leave you babbling,
As he gives you a PAP SMEAR.
You cannot escape my mental destruction gear.
STUTTERING as you get donkey punched in the rear.
You will cry for mercy as I hammer in your head.
Begging my assistant to put you out of misery.
Screwing with your mind, laughing at your history.
Cooking your words like chicken cacciatore.
Forgetting to add herbs to your so-called poetry.
Now who is the one with the ALZHEIMER'S poetry disease?
Now I have you on your knees.
Making you suffer while you foam at the teeth.
Spiting my speech disorder all over your face.
Your slam has no speed to continue with this race.
You’re nothing but a rat, running thru my maze
My assistant is setting traps in your house
Starving and making you trip like an experimental mouse.
Crushing your amphetamines high thread.
I'm going to take your poetic head,
Cram it into the hospital bed.
Awe Doc, All them tears I will make you shed.
Doc, your poetry will be crying for mercy instead.
My pen will inject you a poetic black and blue full of lead.
Refusing you Penicillin, for your infection, over bled.
Adding salt to your wounds, screaming (DR. P.oetic D.read!)
All in time Doc, you will fear me until you go brain dead
Asking for an over dose wishing you were dead.
Knowing that Dr. P.D. Feel Good~is laughing in her head.
By the time, you snap to, I am still way ahead of you.
by;p.d.
A judgement has been made, now the verdict is out.
From the beginning, my winning was beyond a shadow of doubt.
Do not waste your time shouting or pouting about my clout,
Just go ahead and get used to your well deserved drought.
Since day one, you were constantly in contempt of court.
You should have given up, and tried to be a good sport.
But, for some reason, you would not abort this territorial port,
Even though your slams always seemed to fall "a bit short!"
As a result, I am forced to sentence you to life
As the Pathetic Whorelock, full of "poetic" strife.
Go ahead and enjoy your role as another man's wife,
Avoiding the words that cut you deep like a knife.
You talk about fighting to survive. I can talk that talk too.
I faced poverty and homelessness, and fought my way through.
So, now there are no limits to the things that I can do,
Because I made it through the clouds with the sun within view.
How fortunate for you that no one wants to judge this contest,
Because even your biggest fan would proudly confess
That DOC the Poet is the best...better than all of the rest,
And that you are nothing more than an unwelcomed guest.
Anyone who calls you a winner would say so just to be nice,
And anyone who thinks that you can beat me better think twice.
I just put you on ice, and my words have way too much spice,
Which is why your weak little stomach continues to get spliced.
Like I said before, my final judgement has already been made.
Your status as a poet has been measured and weighed.
And, to be perfectly honest, you did not make the grade,
So right about now it is time for you to just fade!
This is the fact that you keep trying to fight,
Because, for some reason, you can not see the light.
So, once and for all just recognize my might,
Or I will have to have you removed from my sight!
Form:
WHORELOCK, now that the first round between us is done,
The readers already know that I have already won.
So, tell me, what good would it possibly do
For you to even show up, and go for round two.
You would not even be a worthy sparring partner for me,
Since you do not have the stamina to make it past round three.
But, if you showed up to fight in round four,
I would punish you some more, knocking you to the floor!
There is no way that you would ever survive,
So I would take a step back, toying with you in round five.
I would throw a jab, a hook, and an upper cut into the mix,
Then watch you stumble around the ring in round six.
And, before you close your eyes to get a glimpse of heaven,
I would continue giving you hell all throughout round seven.
I would abuse you just to prove that I am one of the greats,
Battering and beating you up some more in round eight.
I would savor each and every moment in round nine,
As I proclaim to the whole world that victory is mine!
Prior to delivering the knock out blow in round ten,
I would whisper two words in your ear, and those words are..."I WIN!"
Form: